


Aurors

by MrProphet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	1. The Terror

Miss Cackle’s Academy was not one of the great centres of magical learning, but it was an honest establishment with a good reputation. That was probably why the Ministry came down on them so hard after the coup.

First, Miss Cackle was suspended and Miss Hardbroom made Acting Headmistress. This had little direct impact on day-to-day life at the school, except for a tightening of the rules, but after three months she called an assembly and stood before the whole school. A sour-faced little inspector from the Ministry of Magic sat at the side of the stage as Miss Hardbroom strode to the lectern.

“Good morning, girls,” Miss Hardbroom said.

"Good morning, Miss Hardbroom,” the girls chorused.

“Is it just me, Eddie,” Annie Nightshade whispered, “or does she look more uptight than usual?”

Ædrætha Hubble shushed her friend, but Miss Hardbroom’s eyes were already on them and they braced themselves for a tongue lashing.

It never came. Miss Hardbroom’s thin, grey lips parted, but no rebuke came out. Eddie thought that Annie was wrong. Miss Hardbroom did not look uptight; she looked tired.

“Children; I have been instructed by the Ministry to read this list of names.”

The Inspector frowned.

“The names are those of children in this school who, coming from families who lack a… tradition of witchcraft or wizardry, have been deemed unworthy to study the magical arts in any state sponsored or controlled school. Consequently, the children on this list will be required to leave Miss Cackle’s Academy for Witches.”

She unrolled a parchment and looked out at the girls. “Sandra Aconite, Nadine Batswing, Julia Beechbark…” she began, and the names rolled out, one after another.

Eddie dug her nails into the palms of her hands.

“…Catherine Gemstone, Abigail Hawthorn, Ædrætha Hubble…”

Annie gasped in alarm and clutched her friend by the elbow. It was no surprise to Eddie, whose mother had never been shy of criticising the new regime, even accusing them of cooperating with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but it hurt to leave the school where she had spent the last three years and where her mother before her had learned witchcraft.

“…Mercedes Moonbeam, Karla Oldwise…”

“Oh!” Annie cried. “Oh, I’m sorry, Eddie,” she sobbed.

Eddie shook her head. “Don’t be,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

“…and Tanya Widdershins,” Miss Hardbroom finished. In total, she had read out fifty-nine names; almost a quarter of the school. “These girls are instructed to collect their things, leaving all broomsticks, wands and other magical instruments and artefacts in their rooms to be collected by the Ministry’s representative, Miss Dolores Umbridge. They are instructed to gather in the outer courtyard in one hour, where a coach sent by the Ministry will collect them and take them… to their families. They are instructed…”

The Inspector, Miss Umbridge, gave a soft cough. “Miss Hardbroom,” she said in a soft, poisonous tone. “I think that such equivocation is unnecessary. You can simply tell the girls what to do instead of saying that they are ‘instructed’ to do this or that or the other. Don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Miss Hardbroom agreed. “Girls; if your name was read out then you will gather all of your things and return to the hall within one hour. You will not leave anything that is yours to be stolen by the Ministry and you will not set foot upon their coach to become hostages to your parents’ obedience to the Muggle-Born Registration Act.”

“What!” Umbridge leaped to her feet and cast a swift curse at Miss Hardbroom. The spell rebounded from a magical shield and returned to its caster. In a flash, Miss Umbridge was transformed into stone.

Miss Hardbroom cast the Inspector a look of distain, before turning back to the girls. “My dear friend, Miss Cackle, founded this school to teach  _all_  young witches to use their power with discretion and responsibility,” she announced. “She judged every girl on her ability, not on her background, and she was never wrong, even when I thought she might be,” she added, with a meaningful look at Ædrætha. “I refuse to betray the trust that she placed in me when she was suspended. I regret that I must leave the school, but I feel it my duty to take those girls whom the Ministry would see expelled to a place of safety.”

Annie’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Annie,” Miss Hardbroom said. “I will also take any other girl who wishes to join us, instead of waiting for the Ministry to take over, like they did at Hogwarts. Miss Cackle’s Academy will be going underground.”


	2. Fight or Flight

They came at dusk, just as the school was settling down for the night. No-one would ever work out  _how_  the Snatchers found Miss Cackle’s Academy for Young Witches (in Exile), but at the time that was less important than the fact that they had. Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom had worked hard to shield the caves where they had settled the girls after leaving the school, and their defences gave what little warning there was, dispelling the Death Eaters’ Shadow Cloak charms.

The teachers and prefects hurried to organise a defence, but the Snatchers’ attack punched through their shield charms and weathered the curses they flung in their faces. At the Academy they had heard tell of the Snatchers coming in small bands, twos and threes striking fast and hard to incapacitate lone Muggle-borns, but this was different. In the first few moments of the attack, Ædrætha Hubble counted a dozen black-robed figures touching down and almost as many more falling under the prefects’ defensive fire.

“Run, girls!” Miss Hardbroom cried as she caught a paralysing curse and turned it back on its caster. “Scatter into the woods!”

The girls ran, some screaming, some in silence. They fled through the caves to the secret tunnel on the far side of the hill. They ran headlong, driven by fear and their teacher’s commands until…

“Wait!”

The cry brought them up short.

“Eddie, we need to go,” Annie Nightshade insisted. She gripped her hand, and it was only then that Ædrætha realised that  _she_  had called out.

“I… wait,” she said again, but the crowd was growing restless. “They knew where we were,” she insisted. “What if they know about the tunnel? We’ll be picked off as we come out.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Julia Beechbark insisted.

Ideas flitted through Eddie’s mind. Run and hope for the best? Try to conjure a shield over the class? Hide in the caves?

“We fight,” she said at last.

“What?” Mercedes Moonbeam was scornful. “You’re a fifth year student, Hubble.”

Eddie drew herself up straight. “We’ve all learned a lot since we left the school,” she insisted. “I’ve learned that the Snatchers take us when we fight alone. If we scatter they will take our teachers, and our sisters, and then they will hunt us down, one by one.

They will take us all if we don’t fight back  _now_.”

“If we fight, we could be killed,” Annie reminded her. “We could all die tonight.”

“If we don’t fight, we  _will_  all die before the year is out,” Eddie replied. “There are a few dozen of them, a hundred of us. They are stronger than we are, but they’re still reeling from going up against Miss Cackle and the Hardbroom. We will never have another chance.”

“To do what?” Karla Oldwise demanded.

“To show them that they can not do this!” Eddie snapped. “To stop running and take back our country, and our parents’ country. To tell the Snatchers and the Death Eaters” – a gasp ran around the cavern – “and He Who Must Not Be Named himself, that they can hunt us, and they can kill us, but they will never,  _ever_  break us!” 

There was a hush; the drip of water echoed through the silence.

“Who’s with me?” Eddie demanded, and the Snatchers at the mouth of the secret tunnel heard the roar.

*

Overwhelmed and subdued, the teachers and prefects of the Academy were led to the cage. It was a small cage, but it didn’t need to be more; it wasn’t built to hold them all. As each woman or girl was placed within, a combination of Binding and Apparating charms woven into the metal would transport her to one of the Snatchers’ prisons with her magical abilities dulled. It was a monstrous device, and if she had ever doubted the hand behind the Ministry’s recent activities, Miss Hardbroom doubted no longer. She allowed herself a grim smile as the Snatchers gathered up their fallen, but she knew that – with the exception of the few who had tasted their own reflected killing curses – they would all be on their feet again in a matter of hours; she did not teach her girls to kill.

They took her first, dragging her into the cage and slamming the door closed. As the magic closed around her, she thought that she saw a wall of light rushing towards the Snatchers’ camp.

*

The first volley from the fifth and sixth year girls hit the Snatchers like a sledgehammer. Paralysing and stunning curses pulverised their ranks. In answer they unleashed a mass of curses too swift and powerful for any of the girls to answer, but the attack faltered on a Protection charm cast by the entire fourth form.

A second blast accounted for all but a handful of Snatchers, while a clique of mischievous second years found a productive use for their Unbinding charms at last.

A trio of Snatchers joined their powers into a Feedback curse which overwhelmed the Protection shield with such violence that nine girls passed out, but by then Miss Cackle was free. The prefects went for the bag which held their wands, but Miss Cackle worked without and yet unleashed a barrage of Confounding, Binding, Blinding and Incapacitating charms which would have made an Auror proud.

“ _Nobody_  hurts my girls,” she growled.

The sixth years sprang down the rocks and began working in pairs to disarm the unconscious foe. One of the prefects hurried to free Miss Hardbroom while Eddie went straight to Miss Cackle.

“Are you alright, Ma’am?”

“I told you to run,” Miss Cackle told her.

“I know. It seemed like a bad idea.”

Miss Cackle scowled at her for a long moment, but then smiled. “Get your army together,” she instructed. “We’re leaving.”

Miss Hardbroom stepped over several of the Snatchers, visibly fighting the urge to put her pointy-toed boot in. “With your permission, Miss Cackle, I would like to leave a little something for them to think about.”

*

Eventually, the team waiting at the tunnel mouth realised that no-one was coming, and that the Echo charms cast by the younger girls were nothing but illusion. With howls of rage they flew back over the hill to be greeted by the ruin of their main force, bound and gagged around the cage, which held but a single woman.

In a passion of fury, the lead Snatcher forged past her fallen comrades, ignoring their muffled cries.

“You at least will cause no more trouble!” she spat at the woman in the cage. With a flick of her wand she activated the magic of the device.

The woman in the cage smiled.

The woman in the cage snapped a wand up in salute.

Miss Hardbroom cast her reversal charm as the magic closed around her.

In the blink of an eye, the Snatchers were gone, swept up and Apparated by the cage to their own prison, their magic neutered. The cage itself, overloaded, fell into burned and twisted pieces. Miss Hardbroom surveyed her work with satisfaction and then took off to follow her girls.


	3. A Day in the Life

_Extracts from the charm journal of Ronald Weasley, Auror._

_5:43am_

Woke up when Hermione came to bed. Honestly, the hours she puts in at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and is there ever a Magister around when you need one?

Still, good to get an early start for once and… Oh, hang on. 

Apparently I’m needed.

_8:18am_

Left for work, running late, despite the early wake up. I was practically held prisoner. Honestly, if the voting public knew some of the things that woman takes it into her head to do with a body-bind charm she’d be out on her ear.

I managed to make up a bit of time with the help of some fancy flying, but I’m still late coming in. Miss Hubble probably would have covered for me, but Aquila was already there and she’ll be sure to see that Harry knows I was late. It’s the third day running I’ve been behind, and while the boss might just accept ‘the wife was feeling frisky’ as an excuse, I just couldn’t bring myself to offer it; especially not in front of Aquila and I’ve barely seen Harry without her since I started here. 

_10:06am_

Okay; that’s the basic paperwork for yesterday done; on with today’s work, I guess. I don’t know what I expected when Harry asked me to join the Auror Office, but it certainly wasn’t working eight until late in an actual office.

_10:38am_

Miss Hubble is  _definitely_  flirting with me. It’s not that I’m against that on principle – actually, it’s kind of fun, and certainly makes a change from working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, since my only co-workers there were my brother and his wife – but I keep getting distracted by thoughts of what Hermione would do to Miss H. – and me – if she found out. At some point I’ll need to call a halt, but for now I get good coffee and there doesn’t seem to be much harm.

_11:01am_

Miss Hubble is in tears. Harry wants ‘a serious talk’. This is  _not_  my fault.

_11:26am_

Apparently it is my fault; there’s something I should have done or shouldn’t have done, I’m still not sure which it is. Harry was pretty fuzzy on whether I was giving Miss Hubble the cold shoulder or leading her on. Regardless, he isn’t happy with me for doing or not doing whatever I did or didn’t do.

Aquila on the other hand looks like a cat with a mouse. She keeps looking over and grinning at me. I wonder who she has it in for; me or Miss Hubble.

_12:54pm_

Lunch was difficult. Harry isn’t talking to me because of this Miss Hubble business and Aquila decided to console me over my slapped wrist by bad-mouthing Miss Hubble; I didn’t bite. That got a grateful smile from Miss Hubble, so whatever I did or didn’t do, she at least doesn’t seem to blame me.

I don’t like Aquila Black and I don’t know what Harry sees in her. I guess it’s because he thought the Blacks had more-or-less died out, but Aquila is no Sirius, whatever Harry’s hopes for her. If it was anyone else I’d just think he had a thing for her, but he’s married. To my sister. So he  _can’t_  fancy anyone else.

_14:31pm_

Three more hours of paperwork and then home. Oh for a little action.

_17:03pm_

Me and my big mouth.

_17:28pm_

So, here we are, broomsticking our way out across the countryside. We’ve put in a request for back-up, but most of the Aurors had gone home for the day and won’t get the message until they arrive. For the time being, we’re on our own.

I’m going to leave this diary charm running so that there will be a record if… well, you know. It will get a bit fuzzy when the fighting starts, but I’ll be as clear as I can.

_17:43pm_

We’re at an old tower which has ‘dark wizards’ lair’ written all over it. It’s got spiked battlements and a permanent thunderstorm hovering over it, and the gate looks like a mouth full of jagged teeth.

Harry’s laying out his plan. He and Aquila – it’s always the two of them going in together – will take the battlements while Miss Hubble and I attack the gate in a diversionary sort of way. I’m surprised about Miss Hubble; I’d sort of assumed she was just Harry’s secretary, but he’s treating her as if she’s on the same level as me.

That might be one of those thoughts I come to regret having.

Anyway, Harry wants lots of fire and thunder and fury; just up my street.

_17:52pm_

Aquila Black often looks down her nose at me, the kid from the joke shop, but I spent most of my time at WWW working in the Black Room. Those charm-spheres hiding Harry and Aquila in flight, and the ones which are going to be making all the noise at the front gate, were all first designed in the Black Room on behalf of the Departments of Mysteries, Secrets and Magical Law Enforcement, and I made a good many of them myself.

“What good is a joke maker in the Auror Office?” Aquila asks. Well, I’ll show her.

I start off by levitating a fistful of thunderglobes; they’re basically the same magic as goes into a Weasley’s One-Shot Wondercracker, just with all the settings cranked up to eleven and all the safety features removed. The original has a warning: do not use near flammable objects and pets. If these ones had a warning, they’d say: do not use near anything you want to keep. As it is, they’re not the kind of thing you put warnings on.

They break against the gate and set it on fire; I score a lucky hit on one of the murder holes and send flames shooting up onto the battlements. The noise alone is awesome; a deafening crack like a hundred rolls of thunder all at once. If that hasn’t got their attention, nothing will.

I keep up a regular stream of flash bombs, smoke bombs, choke bombs and stunning spheres, while Miss Hubble picks off the few dark wizards who dare to put their heads above the walls. Miss Hubble is a crack shot with those paralysing charms and I make a mental note not to do anything to make her angry. I’m suddenly less sure that even Hermione could take her on and I realise that being compared to her is a compliment.

Then Harry and Aquila arrive. We know it because the gate falls open, letting us in to join them.

_18:14pm_

In the courtyard, Harry and Aquila are doing what they do. Back to back, shooting out charms two or three at a time, but they’re surrounded by half a dozen dark wizards and witches; Miss Hubble and I even the odds, but there will be more here. The intelligence has this keep down as the base for more than two dozen ex-Death Eaters and their followers.

_18:21pm_

The charms fly thick and fast. I’ve stopped thinking about what I’m doing; it’s all reflex and habit now. Charm and counter charm, shield and riposte. Miss Hubble is at my back, like Aquila is at Harry’s. I hope Harry doesn’t find that as distracting as I am; even in the midst of the battle I can’t ignore the warmth of her.

I hope Hermione never reads this.

_18:22pm_

And now I feel the cold on my back again. I’m scared; so, so scared.

_18:25pm_

Our reinforcements are here; the dark wizards and witches are subdued, but Miss Hubble…

I’ve never seen a blasting charm used on flesh before; I hope I never see it again. My medical magic is only field first aid level, but I think she’ll live. Her right arm is just… gone. I don’t think anyone can get that to grow again and her right eye is a mess as well.

I’m not sure, but I think that after she was hit she somehow held on to her wand, despite her wound, and countered at least a couple of charms which they shot at my back. Brave, brave girl.

Extraordinary woman.

And her first name is Ædrætha; she never told me that before. I’m not sure she ever told  _anyone_  that before. She was always just ‘Miss’. Should I kiss her now? Is that the right thing? Harry would know what was appropriate, and what she’d expect.

I kiss her gently on the forehead. It seems to be the right thing to do. She doesn’t slap me anyway, but then…

_22:14pm_

The clean-up is in hand at the castle. The place is crawling with Aurors and Harry says I should go home. I notice that he doesn’t seem in much of a hurry.

Aquila seems to have finished her ‘field interrogations’. At least, the screaming has stopped. We may not be able to use the Unforgivable Curses, even on dark wizards, but Aquila seems to know and employ a surprising number of highly regrettable ones.

_22:58pm_

I wanted to visit Ædrætha at St Mungo’s before I went home. Apparently it’s not visiting hours, but they were willing to say that she was stable. I was right about that arm, though, which means she’ll either be switched to inactive duty or have to get some sort of prosthetic.

It’s a terrible shame, she had really pretty hands, but now I’ve seen her in action I think it would be worse for her to be stuck at a desk, acting as the secretary I always took her for.

Either way, I really need to buy her a present. If I don’t want to get into trouble, I should probably get Hermione to help me choose.

_00:13pm_

Arrive home. The children are in bed and Hermione’s still out. I’ve gone more or less the whole day without seeing any of my family. Maybe Aquila is right. Maybe I  _should_  go back to the shop. But not yet; not while Harry still needs me in the Auror Office.

Who am I kidding; I’ll never leave. So long as people like Ædrætha Hubble are willing to risk their lives, I have to be there with them. I can’t go back.

And not every day is like today.


	4. Colours

Aedraetha Hubble winced as the needle bit into her arm, marking her indelibly with the image of a skull, split in two, with a star shining through the cleft.

It felt like the right thing to do at the time, although as she grew older – grew up – it began to feel a little silly. The imagery was Gothic, even grotesque, and what seemed cool and edgy at thirteen was embarrassing at twenty, and by twenty-five she was passing up sex because she was worried about people seeing it.

After she hit thirty she kept meaning to have the mark removed, but it never felt right. It bound her to friends who had fought alongside her as children.

In the end, the tattoo was still on her arm when it was blown off by a dark wizard's blasting charm, and she traced the shape of it into the lunargent flesh of her prosthesis.


	5. Black Sheep

“Stupefacere multima!”

The driving rain flickered as a storm of crimson light burst out of the darkness. Harry’s wand darted from side-to-side, too fast to see, as he flicked counter after counter out at the stunning bolts, but he was overwhelmed by the sheer number. One bolt snaked through and knocked him to the ground, a second finding its target once he was unconscious and sealing the deal. He twisted in mid-air and landed face down in the mud.

Ron Weasley tightened his grip on his own wand.

“Stupefacere…”

“Protego!” Ron yelled the shield charm over the end of the incantation, raising a protective bubble around himself and Harry which shivered at the impact of the stun bolts. Some of the bolts burst like roman candles, while others shot back into the darkness to be met with lightning-quick counterspells.

Ron hurried to Harry’s side and rolled him onto his back. Harry’s wand lay in the mud and he picked it up in his right hand.

“Still alive, I hope,” the familiar voice called from the shadows. “I do so want him to be able to wake up and find your body by his side.”

Ron rose to his feet and tried to sound brave. “Come out, Aquila. Give yourself up.”

“Surrender to you, Ron Weasley? Now that really would be too embarrassing.”

A volley of hexes flashed towards him. He countered each one, but he was forced back step-by-step, away from Harry’s unconscious form.

When the assault stopped, Ron wiped the rain out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He was getting fed up of trying to fight something that he could not see. What beat him was how Aquila was able to make him out in the darkness, unless…

“Panlumos!” he cried, aiming his wand straight up. Another stun blast flickered towards him and Ron surprised himself by countering it using Harry’s wand in his left hand. He’d occasionally tried that during duelling practice, but had never been able to command another person’s wand naturally enough. With Harry’s, it felt as though the wand were helping him.

Ron’s charm detonated twenty feet up, shedding a brilliant light across the blasted tower and the dark heath all around it. For a moment he saw Aquila, resplendent in her black robes and long boots, before the dark witch recoiled from the light, her magically-enhanced eyesight overwhelmed by its brightness.

“Lariate!” As the witch tried to retreat from the tower’s edge, Ron shot a catching spell at her. The hex coiled around her waist and pulled her towards him, but he failed to catch her wand arm and she countered the spell mid-fall.

“Ailuoropede!” Aquila Black landed smoothly in front of Ron, feet astride the fallen Harry Potter. “Good work, cousin,” she applauded; she was still blinking her eyes clear, which meant that she probably couldn’t see properly yet. “I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“Petrificus…!”

“Sectumsempra!”

Aquila’s cutting curse was launched blind, but it broke Ron’s concentration. She followed it with an  _incendio_  hex which set fire to a small gorse bush.

“Stupefy!” Ron fell back on the basics, but Aquila’s countercurse was too quick and accurate to be chance; she must have her eyesight back again.

“A noble effort, cousin,” Aquila laughed, “but, of course, you failed. You should have seen it coming. After all, you’re not even a proper auror.”

“I am a proper…”

“Confringo!”

Ron parried the blasting charm with Harry’s wand and replied with another stun blast. They exchanged shots for several moments, the magical blasts flickering too and fro over the fallen Harry.

“Why are you doing this?” Ron demanded. “You were Harry’s best pupil, his protégé.”

“And didn’t that just make you mad with jealousy?” Aquila demanded. “The poor little shop-boy who only got into the department because his sister married the boss.”

“That’s a lie!” Ron roared. “I earned my place at the Battle of Hogwarts!”

“You were always the spare, Weasley.  _I_  should have become Harry’s second in command, not you. I was his greatest pupil, and now his better.” She laughed out loud. “I suppose that I’m now the master of the Elder Wand as well.”

Ron was shocked. “How…?”

“He told me about the wand,” she explained. “He told me everything. I was his right hand until he took pity on you.”

“It wasn’t pity. It was  _trust_. He brought me into the Department because he knew he could trust me.”

“He had me.”

“He never trusted you, Aquila. You were too ambitious.”

“So…That’s how it was.” She smiled nastily. “But however much he trusted you, he never told you, did he?”

“About the Elder Wand?”

“About _us_.”

“No!” Ron’s denial was immediate and instinctive, and yet deep down it never occurred to him to doubt it. Aquila was a beautiful woman, she could even be charming when she wasn’t in the grip of a psychopathic rage. God knew, Ron had thought that thought often enough to feel embarrassed when talking to Hermione about his day at the office.

“Yes!” Aquila raised her wand triumphantly. “Harry and I were lovers.”

And there were all those times Ginny had complained about Harry coming home late when the kids were little. Ron could have kicked himself to think how easily he’d assured her that he was just working long hours on a case.

“And believe me,” Aquila went on, “I shall take great pleasure in telling your sister every detail before I eviscerate…”

“Crucio!” Ron’s wand darted forward and launched a blast of magic so swift and potent that even a witch as skilled as Aquila could barely counter it. As she did so, however, he brought Harry’s wand around in an underhand loop and whispered: “Expelliarmus.”

Aquila flew back and her wand flipped out of her hand.

“Confringo!” Ron’s blasting spell blew Aquila’s wand to pieces.

“No!” she wailed. “Not you! Not by you.”

“Aquila Black, formerly of the Auror Department; I am arresting you for practice of the dark arts and crimes against the wizarding and muggle worlds too numerous for a poor, bumbling shop-boy like me to even count.”

“Fine. Take me back,” she spat. “Let me tell the world about Harry and me. I’ll go to Azkaban, but Harry and his simpering red-head will be through. I’ll enjoy that thought as I languish in my cell, almost as much as I’ll enjoy the pain it will cause  _you_.”

Ron lowered his wand. “Enjoy it now,” he suggested.

Aquila chuckled. “You won’t kill me,” she said. “You don’t have the nerve.”

“It’s not about nerve,” he assured her. Then he lifted his wand. “Goodbye, Aquila Black.”

“What…?”

“Obliviate totalis!”

A beam of white light leaped from the wand and struck Aquila full in the face. She could only stare helplessly, eyes wide, as the memory charm stripped away her life. When the light died down, the woman who had been Aquila Black lay quite still; only her breathing showed that she was still alive.

Ron turned to face the unconscious Harry. Aquila was no concern; it would take her the best part of an hour to remember how to walk and perhaps a day to regain the power of speech. Even then, she would be harmless, returned to perfect innocence.

Harry groaned and twitched fitfully; perhaps he was imagining it, but Ron thought that he heard Aquila’s name. Someday, he realised, Ginny might hear that name. Harry loved Ginny, Ron truly believed that; if he didn’t, he would probably have turned him face down again and blamed it on Aquila. But however much they loved one another, Ginny could never forgive Harry, and if his time in the Auror Department had taught him anything about guilt, Ron could be sure that one day Harry  _would_  give the game away.

“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “In fact, I forgive you. That’s why I’m going to make sure you and Ginny stay together.” He smiled sadly and levelled his wand at Harry. “Obliviate!”


	6. Woman of Parts

“I hate necromancers,” Ron declared.

“Everyone hates necromancers,” Miss Hubble reminded him. “Even other necromancers hate necromancers.” She gazed down at the stitched-together body strapped to the slab. “That's why they have to be so good at making friends.”

Ron gave her a look of disbelief. “You are a strange and creepy woman, Miss Hubble.”

Miss Hubble flashed him half-a-smile on her half-a-face. “ _This_  is a strange and creepy woman.”

The woman's eyes flickered open and a voice rasped from her throat. “I... hear... you. Where... am I?”

“We'll be right back,” Ron told her. He took Miss Hubble's arm and led her aside. “I thought she wasn't supposed to be animated before midnight,” he pressed.

“All the research said so.”

“She's animate!”

“So, we make her... inanimate again,” Miss Hubble suggested.

“What's she done to deserve that?” Ron asked. “She's not Inferus or a zombie or anything.”

“She's a product of black magic.”

“A product,” Ron agreed. “She's not a dark witch or a necromancer or a Skull-Bearer.”

“Ron; she's made of bits!”

“We're all made of bits; it's just on her you can see the stitches.”

Miss Hubble thought long and hard. “Does that even mean anything?”

“Does it sound good?”

Miss Hubble shrugged. “It sounds like rot, but it might just pass for profound.”

Ron glanced back at the woman on the slab. “You think Harry'll buy it?”

“I think he'll pretend to.”

“Good enough.” Ron flicked his wand towards the slab and the leather straps perished and cracked. “Come with us, miss,” he said. “We'll look after you.”

“I really hope I don't regret this,” Miss Hubble sighed.

Ron walked over and helped the patchwork-woman to her feet. “When have I ever been a source of regret to you, Miss Hubble?”

Miss Hubble laughed sharply. “Do you want the list?”


	7. Scary People

The crowds pulled back as they approached, huddling against the buildings in fear. Even the Muggles, largely unaware of their passing, instinctively made a hole, and shuddered as they passed. Most of the wizards who saw them averted their gaze from the group, and only one young girl dared to examine them closely. What she saw was three wizards and two witches, dressed in dark, trousered robes, their faces grim.

First went a very tall, red-haired wizard with hard eyes. His robes were a deep burgundy and he carried not one, but two wands on his belt; a long, slim rod of willow and a shorter, stouter oaken shaft. His right hand, resting on the grip of the willow wand, was severely scarred. He had scars also on his neck and walked with a pronounced limp.

Next came a slim woman in slate grey. She carried a short, curved sword on her right hip, but no visible wand. Her right hand was not flesh, but silver, and the same metal covered the side of her neck and skull, including her right brow, eye and cheek. A puckered line of scar tissue showed that this was not a mask, but that the metal had been mystically grafted to her flesh. Her right eye was also forged of silver. The silver shimmered with a lunar luminescence which cast an unnatural pallor over her fair skin and ash-blonde hair.

At the rear of the group was a big man in brown. He was easily six-and-a-half feet tall and would have been frightening enough because of that, but his face was covered by a mass of scars and he also had a prosthetic eye, in this case his left, which spun wildly in a brass and leather frame. In place of a wand he carried a heavy oaken staff; less flexible and precise, but more powerful. He walked beside a petite, powerful brunette, whose lower body was sheathed in a framework of metal braces. Her robes were midnight blue and she carried a blackthorn wand in her left hand.

The last of the five walked in the middle of the group and was, perhaps, the most frightening of them all. He dressed in black and his dark eyes burned with a deep, uncanny understanding of things that man was not meant to wot of. He was perhaps fifty years old, but moved smoothly, his body as straight as his holly wand. His hair was jet black, and his brow was marred by a pale scar.

The girl clutched her father’s hand in fear. “Scary people, Daddy,” she whispered. “Are they… Skull-Bearers?”

“No, sweetheart,” her father murmured. “They’re not scary,” he added unconvincingly. “They’re the… good guys.”

*

As the first wagon-load of Magisters rattled into the street and began herding away the crowds, the five Aurors spread out in a long line, facing an innocuous looking apartment above a funeral parlour.

“Is that it?” their leader asked.

“Yes, Harry,” the silver woman replied.

“Triple-warded locks; shields on all the windows,” the big man said. “Seven of them inside and… three of their possessed skulls. Four upstairs and three in the back with the skulls; could be a workshop back there.”

“Are you sure about the skulls, Janus?” the dark-haired girl asked. “I thought even your eye couldn’t detect them magically.”

“I’ve been tweaking the design,” Janus Moody replied. “I can’t see the skulls, but I can see the gaps where they should be.”

“Can they see us, Miss Hubble?” the red-haired man asked.

The silver woman shook her head. “No, Ron,” she said. “I’m maintaining a passive shield, but they’ll notice sooner rather than later.”

“Alright,” Ron Weasly said. “If we can’t count on back-up…”

“We can’t,” the dark-haired man assured him.

“…then we need to move in, now. Three Skullbounds is too much for just us, so we’ll need to get them out here where the Magisters can catch them in a crossfire. If Janus and Allegra go around the back and bring the house down, literally, Miss Hubble and I can go in through the front windows. We need lots and lots of chaos and explosions to force them out into the street.”

“And what about me?”

“You wait out here and keep any of the Magisters from dying,” Ron told his boss. “I don’t want to have that discussion with Hermione again; you know Magical Law Enforcement is still her baby.”

Harry Potter smiled dryly. “Right. I’m out here so you don’t get nagged. Do you have any idea what she’ll do to me if you lose the other leg?”

“No-one blames you for that,” Ron assured him. “And it’s not the same. I can take a risk or two, but you might as well paint over that scar with a target.”

“But…”

“And if you’re in there, they  _won’t_  come out.” Ron reminded him. “Every wannabe Voldemort in the country would bend the knee to whoever takes you out. Show your face in the street and they’ll come running.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. “Alright,” he agreed. “You’re the chessmaster. It still feels wrong though, being the only one on the team with all his bits intact.”

“If it helps, don’t think of it as keeping you safe. Think of it as making you the bait.”

“Thanks Ron,” Harry chuckled. “And speaking of bits, Janus,” he added, before his team split up. “Be careful. I know you idolise your uncle, but that doesn’t mean you have to lose every body part he did.”


End file.
